Thursday, December 12, 2013

The Last Dressing - Installment One

Greetings my friends!  It has been a long time since I posted here. A very busy year  has kept me away from my blog.  I am now posting  six installments of the story behind Belleherst's newest production, The Last Dressing, which will be on tour once again in the U.S. during January and in Poland during March, 2014. I'll be posting one installment each week.  Enjoy!

Kathleen Ann Thompson
The Beginning
 Once upon a time, as most stories begin, is not so appropriate for this tale, as it began before time was marking the comings and goings of life. But, nevertheless, we shall begin at a point of time in the story. This is the point where, our hero, the beneficent, wise  and powerful KING, charted a plan for his threatened realm – a realm with so many territories they couldn’t all be named and more subjects that the stars in heaven.
 A jealous rebellion has broken out against the KING which endangers the realm’s stability and existence. Now, one must not think that the KING could not muster an overwhelming force of his own military to squash the revolt.  He could.   But, I told you, the KING was wise.  A rebellious element overcome by brute force would only thrive underground, chewing on their bitterness and anger waiting to fight again some unsuspecting day.  No, he must change their thinking, and then their hearts could be changed.
 Now, the KING had no queen, for she had died in child-birth five years before.  His son, the prince, was their only heir to the throne. So, just before dawn, as the rebels were gathering with huge and hard boots, fire brands in their hands and curses in their mouth to attack the palace, the KING took the five-year-old Prince under a large grey hooded cloak and fled down the palace stairs.
 It was here that everything changed. The KING suddenly stopped and perched with one foot up and one foot down on a step - he had heard something.  It was the cry of an infant. Searching through the grey mist of pre-dawn light, he saw movement – like a moth caught in a web –thrashing, erratic, desperate movement. The cry was weak and pleading. Time – no time.  The big and hard boots were coming, the fire was near.  He reached for it and with his right arm swooped it up.  It was wet and slippery with its own blood as he tucked it under the big grey cloak and fled into the mist.
That was the last he saw of the realm’s subjects for a long, long time.
- next week-     The Ancient Forest